Putting my own ego aside and running through what Carter just said to me, I realize those words may not have been about me at all. Maybe he told me something personal, something real, without even meaning to.
“Carter,” I call out, as he prepares to enter the school.
He pauses with his hand on the door and turns back to look at me, but his expression is still dark and stormy. He actually looks dangerous now, so it’s probably lunacy that pulls me closer to him. Nonetheless, I ride out the crazy and take a few tentative steps closer until I’m maybe a foot away.
“We aren’t what is done to us,” I tell him. “People are going to hurt us, and it’s going to be hard, and sometimes we might never get closure. We might never understand why. But that’s the reason I asked. Maybe deserve isn’t the right word. People don’t get what they deserve, people just get what they get, and then they have to make the best of it.”
He’s still standing there, watching me, but there’s a little less malice painted across his handsome features.
“But I want that closure, and you could give it to me. I don’t need it from Jake, so I don’t know why I need it from you. I guess Jake just feels simple and generic, and I can’t help—I can’t help feeling like there’s more to you.”
He stares at me for a long moment, and I’m struck by the thought that his mind is like an exclusive, secret club I desperately want access to. I want to know who he is, how he thinks. Maybe he’s simpler than I want him to be and I would be disappointed, but one way or the other, I could stop wondering. One way or the other, I would have my answers.
Instead of giving me any, Carter turns back around, pulls open the entry door, and says a little mockingly, “Come on, Ellis. Can’t be late to that next class.”
Chapter 11
Thursday after school, Carter messages me with a link to a trailer for the movie we both wanted to see. I actually am working, so I couldn’t go even if I wanted to, but I don’t bother offering up that explanation. He would probably just counter with a later showing, and I’m not going to a late showing with him. Alone with Carter Mahoney driving me home late at night? I’ll pass.
I also don’t want to tell him I’m at work because then he might pay me a visit, and I don’t want to see him. It’s hard enough to keep him out of my mind, and I already had to see him at school.
Friday as soon as history class lets out, I feel Carter’s eyes on me, so I don’t turn to look at him. He follows me out into the hall, falling into step beside me.
“You again?” I ask, somewhat lightly.
“Your favorite stalker,” he returns.
“That’s a factual statement,” I mutter.
“Aw, I’m your favorite? I’m gonna tell Parsons. He’s gonna be so jealous.”
I roll my eyes. “I meant the stalker part.”
“Says the girl who stalks my Instagram like a clingy ex,” he volleys back.
Meeting his gaze as we walk, I ask, “Did you need something, Carter?”
Nodding once, he says, “Yes, actually. We have our first away game tonight. You gonna wish me luck?”
Sarcastically chambering my arm, then thrusting it in the air in a faux cheer, I say, “Go Longhorns!”
Carter smirks. “That’s more like it.”
“What, your rally girl isn’t giving you enough attention? I thought she was the best,” I remark innocently.
Carter nods. “It’s all right. I find moderate jealousy cute in a girl. Keep it up.”
“I don’t want you to find me cute,” I mutter.
“Then don’t wear skirts to school,” he says, nodding to the suede button skirt I wore today. “Is that the one I took off you?”
Shooting him a warning look and glancing around to make sure no one heard, I hiss, “No, it is not. That one was corduroy.”
“Looks the same.”
I look down at my skirt, appraising it. “Nuh uh. This one flares more, the other one is straighter.” Shaking my head, I look ahead and keep walking. “This is an absurd conversation to be having. Don’t you have plays to study or cheerleaders to screw? Go away.”
“I was paying you a compliment,” he informs me. Then, just to annoy me, he reaches over and fingers the laced up area around the bust of my black top. “I like this, too. Just a peek of cleavage, all restrained, just like you. You’re a little tease, aren’t you, Zoey?”
Swatting his hand away, I shoot him a dirty look. “Don’t touch me.”
“I touched your shirt, not you.”
“Unless the alternative is tumbling off a cliff, don’t touch me or anything attached to me. If I am about to plummet to my death and only you are around to save me, then you have my permission to reach out and grab me. That is the only scenario—and frankly, if I find myself alone on a cliff with you, you’re probably the one pushing me, so I don’t see much chance of it happening.”